How to Capture a Countess (Duchess Diaries 1) (10 page)

Sin sent his valet a hard look. “I suppose you think you’re being humorous.”

Dunn’s mouth quivered faintly, but he managed to control it. “The claret waistcoat, my lord?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just bring me one and be quick about it, or I’ll be late for dinner.”

“Yes, my lord.” The valet brought the waistcoat and assisted Sin into it. “And now your coat, my lord.”

Sin nodded and allowed Dunn to assist him into the coat, wincing as he moved his shoulder.

“Your shoulder, too, my lord? Good heavens, that must have been a very heavy book.”

“You have no idea.” Sin took a final glance in the mirror, made a minute adjustment to his cravat that
left Dunn murmuring with approval. “I shall need the emerald cravat pin, please.”

Dunn fetched the pin from the pin box. “I take it your wounds are actually from an encounter with Miss Balfour, rather than a mere book selection.”

“Perhaps.”

“That
is,
after all, why you came to the duchess’s house party.”

Sin’s gaze narrowed. “I don’t believe I ever said that.”

Dunn gave a superior smile and turned to replace the pin box on the dresser. “I am aware that Miss Balfour is the reason we are here. I hope you won’t mind if I voice a concern.”

“Would it matter if I did?”

“No, my lord. I’d find a way to work it into a conversation eventually.”

“Then out with it, damn it.”

“I hope you’re not going to do anything rash where Miss Balfour is concerned.”

“Rash? Me?” Sin held the pin in front of his cravat and regarded it in the mirror.

“Yes, my lord, you. I remember how you were in the months after your last encounter with Miss Balfour. It is the one area where you are not so controlled.”

Sin paused, his hand hovering. “You think I’m controlled?”

“More than most people, my lord. Not that it’s a
bad habit, for it gives you great advantage in games of chance. It has not, however, been so propitious for your relationships.”

“I don’t have relationships.”

Dunn raised his brows as if that proved his point.

“I don’t have them because I don’t
wish
to have them,” Sin said impatiently.

Dunn bowed. “Of course, my lord.”

Scowling, Sin slipped the pin into place. He might balk at the strictures of society, and refuse to socialize with the bland virgins his grandmother and great-aunt had been pushing his way since the day he’d inherited his title, but he wasn’t ‘controlled.’ He merely knew how he liked his life, and made certain it happened accordingly. Who didn’t? He was just fortunate enough to have the means to make it so. As for his relationships, he’d had plenty—more than his fair share, to be honest.

It was silly to even think about Dunn’s unfounded charge. Besides, he had better things to do than deal with impertinence, like finding ways to get Miss Balfour alone, and avoiding Aunt Margaret’s infernal quizzing.

Miss Balfour had thrown down quite a challenge, almost daring him to seduce her.

She had a lot to learn. He’d already shown his cards, so now it was time to show her how well he could shuffle the deck. “Dunn, there’s no need to wait up on me.”

“Staying out late, my lord?”

“Not tonight. I plan on being in bed quite early, in fact.” He’d pursued Miss Balfour enough for today; it would be wise to give her some time to wonder what he might do next. There was nothing more seductive than anticipation.

He had three entire weeks to show Miss Balfour how wrong she could be. Three luscious weeks, and he planned to enjoy every one of them. First, though, he had to assess the competition offered by his aunt’s guests. Smiling, he bid Dunn a good night and left his bedchamber.

•  •  •

Five minutes later, Sin looked about the sitting room. “Good God.”

Aunt Margaret sighed. “I know. The new linings for the curtains are atrocious, aren’t they? I wondered at the Wellington Blue, for it seems an odd color to me, but Charlotte swore it was all the rage and I buckled. Now I’m stuck with them.”

“I hadn’t even noticed your blasted curtains.
These
are the other guests?”

“Why, yes.” She sniffed. “Sin, you smell of whiskey.”

He grimaced. “My valet used it to clean the scrape on my chin.”

Her gaze sharpened. “Oh yes. How did you get—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said shortly. “You were speaking of your guests?”

She shrugged. “I believe you know most of them
already.” She nodded to the small group sitting upon settees at the far end of the room, all dressed in the height of fashion and dripping with jewels. “You know Mr. and Mrs. Stewart, cousins of the Earl of Buchan, and their daughters, Isobel and Muriella.”

The Stewarts all resembled one another in their weak chins and gray hair, even their middle-aged daughters. Mr. and Mrs. Stewart were in their eighties, so thin and slight that they looked as if a strong wind might blow them away. Beside them their daughters looked brawny, though one was tall and gaunt and the other short and squat.

Margaret then gestured to two women who sat in a pair of chairs by the fireplace. “And I’m certain you’ve met Miss Fraser and Lady McFarlane, both excellent whist players.”

Neither of the ladies in question looked well enough to sit at a card table. One of them had nodded off to sleep and the other didn’t appear to be far behind.

“And over there is Mr. Munro.” Margaret gestured toward an older, quite plump man with a balding pate.

“Why is he hovering over the port decanter?”

“He always does. He’s an acquaintance of Roxburghe’s and is quite well-off, with a large estate near Stirling. Sadly, he’s turned into a horrid flirt and I now wish I hadn’t invited him.”

“And the other elderly man?”

“Lord Cameron is not elderly; he’s middle-aged.”

Sin lifted his brows.

“He’s a neighbor and a frequent whist partner when the vicar can’t make it.” Margaret regarded Cameron with favor. “You’ll enjoy him. He’s quite a wag when in his cups.” She beamed around the room. “As I said, none of them should be a stranger to you.”

“Aunt Margaret, while I’m sure they’re all quite nice, these guests aren’t in your usual style. They’re all so—” He’d been about to say “old,” but then realized that most of the guests were near Aunt Margaret’s age or younger.

“They’re all what?” The martial light in her eyes told him that she’d guessed what he’d been about to say.

“They’re not . . . what I expected.”

“What, or rather, who, did you expect?”

“Mr. Bailey, Lord MacDonald, Earl Spencer, Miss Sontieth, Lady MacTavish—the ones you usually invite to your amusements.”

“Ah, yes. Apparently there’s a horrible ague going about.”

Something about the way she said that made him turn to regard her more closely. “Your
younger
friends have all fallen ill with the ague while the
older
ones have avoided it?”

“Odd, isn’t it?” She didn’t meet his gaze, but instead fidgeted with an emerald bracelet clasped about her wrist. “But there’s no explaining an ague.”

He wondered what bee had gotten into Aunt Margaret’s
bonnet. “Miss Balfour and I will be oddities by virtue of our ages.”

Margaret looked about the room as if surprised. “Oh dear,” she said. “I suppose you’re right. I never thought of it.”

“Aunt Margaret, I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you’re playing deep. You have only ten guests total, and you usually invite twenty couples or more.” Now he’d have to work twice as hard to steal Rose away unnoticed. By virtue of not having gray or white hair, he and Rose would be instantly missed.

He eyed his great-aunt with a narrow gaze. “What are you up to?”

“Me?” Twin spots of color showed through the powder on her thin cheeks. “I’m not up to a thing. I’m merely trying to help.”

“Help with what?”

“You seemed interested in this Balfour gel, and I didn’t think you needed the competition of any other youngsters.”

Sin almost choked. “Competition? You thought I couldn’t handle— Good God, madam! No one insults me the way you do.”

She didn’t look the least put out. “That’s a pity. You’d be more bearable if people didn’t always fawn over you. And don’t tell me you’re not spoiled from it.”

He scowled. “If you feel I’m too spoiled for good company, then I’m surprised you invite me here year after year.”

“I do it because you’re my great-nephew, of course. In fact, you’re my
favorite
great-nephew.”

“I’d never have known that by the things you say to me.”

“Caring for someone doesn’t mean you’re always polite. Sometimes it means you tell them the truth, whether they wish to hear it or not. In fact, I’ve been wanting to discuss this with you for some time; over the years you’ve grown a little arrogant.”

“Nonsense.”

“It’s not your fault, of course. When your father and mother died, my sister thought thrusting all of the responsibility of the title directly on your shoulders would make you a man. It did, of course, but not necessarily the right sort of man.”

“You’ve said enough, madam,” he said frostily. “Plenty of people have inherited larger estates and at younger ages.”

“And with equally disastrous results,” she replied with asperity.

“The Sinclair estate and house have never been in better repair.”

“Oh, you’ve a knack for the management part of it, but it hasn’t been good for you. There’s been nothing—and no one—to challenge you and make you think about someone’s wishes other than your own. And now that your brothers have all grown and married, you’re even more insufferable than ever.”

Bloody hell, first Dunn and now Aunt Margaret. “If you feel that way, then perhaps I should leave.”

“And miss spending time with Miss Balfour? And after I changed my guest list to give you an advantage?”

“Damn it, I’m not trying to fix my interest with Miss Balfour!”

Aunt Margaret arched a disbelieving brow. “If you’re not trying to fix your interest with her, then why did you demand that I invite her?”

“My interest in Miss Balfour isn’t romantic in nature.”

“My dear, what
other
interest can there be between a man and a woman?”

“She has been a thorn in my side for a long time and I thought the time had come to remove that thorn. That is all.”

“You’re not planning her some harm, are you?” The pugnacious angle of Aunt Margaret’s chin reminded him of his grandmother. “Let me remind you that this gel is a guest of mine,
and
my goddaughter. If she mentions one unacceptable incident, you will deeply regret it.”

“Miss Balfour will have no reason to mention any ‘unacceptable incidents’ to you or anyone else.”
I intend her to find every incident to be
very
acceptable. So acceptable that she’ll long for more.

“I should hope not. The gel is under my protection
while she’s under my roof and I won’t have her reputation impugned.”

If Rose were an innocent, Sin would also be concerned about reputations and protections. But she’d clearly stated that she was a woman of experience. “If anyone is in need of protection, it’s not her. But that’s neither here nor there. Aunt Margaret, it’s time you stopped this infernal tendency to matchmake.”

“Me? I didn’t even think of inviting Miss Balfour until you mentioned her.”

“But you’ve already started meddling. Just look at the guest list.”

“You must admit you could use some help. Miss Balfour is an attractive woman, and other eligible men—most of whom have better address than you—might outshine you.”

“No one has better address than I do, when I wish it. As for Miss Balfour, she’s brown, freckled, and unfashionable. I doubt any other eligible males would pay her the least heed.”

“She’s also lively, charming, and has a breathtaking smile.” Before Sin could reply, Margaret held up a hand. “Let us agree that Miss Balfour is not your usual sort. She’s very independent, and not at all a social climber, nor does she seem to care for fortune.”

Sin frowned. “That is not my
usual sort
of woman. That is merely the type of woman my title and fortune attract.”

Aunt Margaret’s brows lowered. “Sin, there will
always be those who are attracted to us for our name and wealth, but there are also those who will wish to be with us simply because of who we are.”

He laughed derisively.

She bit her lip. “Oh dear. You poor boy.”

“Nonsense.” He grinned. “I’ve been blessed with wealth and a title and I wouldn’t have it any other way, so don’t look at me as if I were once again a boy and came to you with a skinned knee.”

“But no one should live as if—”

“I’m perfectly happy the way I am, Aunt Margaret.”

“Happy? Really? Even though you think that every woman you’ve met thus far has been interested in you only for your title and wealth?”

“I don’t think it; I know it. Several even told me so.”

“Oh! Why, those—” Aunt Margaret clamped her lips closed. “I have a name for women like that, but I won’t say it here. Sin, you’re wrong if you think those horrid few represent the whole. Why, look at Miss Balfour.
She
doesn’t seem interested in your title or fortune. In fact, she seems very uninterested in you overall.”

Not for long.
He patted his aunt’s hand on his arm. “You leave Miss Balfour to me, and have a little faith that I can charm a woman when I wish to.”

She gave an inelegant snort. “I have plenty of faith in you, but we all have our limits, dear.” She patted his hand as if he were a three-year-old and she’d just
handed him a tea cracker. “No need to thank me for assisting you, though I’m still not perfectly clear on your motives—”

“Your grace, how are you this evening?” Miss Isobel Stewart stood before them. Tall and gangly, she was known for her bold speaking. Or, as Sin thought of it, “ill-bred blurting out every thought in her empty head.” He considered this tendency, and not her iron-gray hair, which had been teased into a rather frightening mound upon her narrow head, to be the reason she was unwed, even thought she was related to half of England’s best families and was reported to be quite an heiress.